After some time in the woman's arms, Tyler couldn't stop thinking about what had happened.
His thoughts spun aimlessly until, at last, exhaustion took over.
After all, he was in the body of a baby — and he couldn't resist the weight of his eyelids.
When he opened his eyes again, the soft morning light filtered through narrow cracks in the wood.
"Guess it was just a bad dream…"
He let out a cynical laugh, relieved for a brief moment.
But then he turned his head to the side.
The place was simple, rustic — wooden walls, a low ceiling, and the scent of drying herbs in one corner.
Nothing resembled his room, or the world he knew.
"…Or not."
After a while, the door creaked open.
A woman entered — Isabel — her ears oddly pointed, and one arm missing.
"Ah… looks like you're awake," she said with a tired sigh.
Tyler blinked.
She had spoken… but he didn't understand a single word.
"What language is that? Sounds like… cursed Russian."
Before he could think any further, Isabel picked him up, her movements both hurried and gentle.
Her face showed relief — and pain, both physical and emotional.
"At least… I managed to protect you," she murmured, her voice trembling.
Tyler just stared at her, confused.
Nothing made sense — not the words, not the place… not the tiny body he was trapped in.
Isabel laid him back down on the makeshift bed and stepped away for a moment.
Tyler watched her closely, studying every move. Even without understanding the language, he could feel the weight on her back — as if she were carrying the entire world.
She knelt before a small chest and pulled out bottles, herbs, and clean cloths.
As she cleaned the wound on her shoulder, the sharp scent of alcohol and dried flowers filled the air.
Tyler wrinkled his nose.
"Homemade antiseptic… well, at least someone here knows what an infection is."
Isabel finished tending to the wound and took a deep breath.
For a moment, the room fell silent, save for the soft whisper of wind slipping through the cracks in the wood.
She opened a small leather pouch and took out a blue, translucent crystal that shimmered with an unsteady, pulsing light.
Tyler's eyes locked onto it.
It was like watching a living lamp — glowing with a rhythm of its own.
The woman watched the crystal for a few seconds, then dipped it into a bowl of water.
At once, a faint hum filled the air, and tiny ripples spread across the surface.
The light flickered… dimmed… and finally, stabilized.
Tyler raised his eyebrows — or tried to.
"She put the thing in water… and now it stopped glowing? What is that, some kind of magic battery?"
The woman let out a tired sigh, as if repeating a familiar ritual.
She tucked the crystal away, wiped her face with her torn sleeve, and rested her hand on the floor for a moment, drained.
Tyler was still trying to make sense of it.
"Maybe the water draws something out… cools it down, purifies it… I don't know."
He let out a mental sigh.
"Either way, it seems important."
When Isabel came closer again, brushing her hand gently over his head, a strange sensation coursed through his body — a faint shiver, a soft pressure in his chest, as if the air itself had changed density.
He swallowed hard.
"Definitely… not a dream."
Isabel stood silently for a moment, her eyes fixed on the window.
The air smelled of smoke and ash.
In the distance, the muffled sound of something burning still echoed through the mountains.
She whispered something under her breath, barely audible. The words sounded like a prayer… or a vow.
Tyler didn't understand them, but he recognized the tone — the voice of someone trying to stay strong… and hide their fear.
She stood up slowly, checked the crystal inside the pouch, and tied it carefully. Her movements were precise, yet carried a strange weight, as if every gesture held an ancient, ritualistic purpose.
"Is she getting ready to run? Or to hide?" Tyler thought, watching her closely.
A noise outside made Isabel freeze.
She stayed completely still for several seconds — just long enough for Tyler to feel her heartbeat pounding against his tiny body.
Then came a soft knock on the door. Three short taps.
She seemed to recognize the signal and opened it, revealing a man covered in dust and dried blood, wearing the battered remains of light armor.
The words exchanged between them were quick, full of names and harsh sounds. Tyler couldn't understand a thing, but the tone said it all — desperation, urgency… loss.
When the man left, Isabel closed the door gently and rested her forehead against the wood. She stayed that way for a moment, breathing deeply.
Then she turned back to the makeshift cradle and looked at Tyler — not with fear, but with something deeper. Reverence.
She brushed her hand over his face, and a faint light glimmered across her fingers.
Tyler felt the air around him grow thicker, vibrant — like static electricity, but alive.
"That feeling again…" he thought.
It was as if the world itself recognized his presence — and responded to it.
Isabel smiled wearily and murmured something soft.
Tyler couldn't understand the words, but from the way she looked at him, he knew:
that baby — he himself — was something that shouldn't exist.
For a few moments, silence filled the small room. The wind slipped through the cracks in the boards, carrying with it the mingled scent of herbs and smoke.
Isabel took a deep breath and stood up, her gaze distant — as if remembering something important.
She approached the chest again and began rummaging through it in a hurry. Bottles rattled, fabrics scattered, and the dry clink of metal echoed across the floor.
"Looking for something…" Tyler thought, following the movement of her eyes.
Isabel pushed aside what seemed to be a loose plank at the bottom of the chest. The gesture was careful, almost ritualistic.
But the moment she saw the empty space beneath the wood, her face went pale.
She froze for a few seconds — then let out a brief sound, somewhere between a sigh and a stifled sob.
"She… lost something important."
Tyler had no idea what it was, but her silent despair said enough.
The woman closed the chest, stood up slowly, and looked toward the door.
Her body trembled slightly — not from fear, but from resolve.
She grabbed a piece of thick cloth and tied it around herself, crossing it over her shoulder and across her chest.
With a quick motion, she lifted Tyler and secured him there, held tightly against her body.
The touch was firm. Protective.
Tyler could feel her heartbeat racing, the warmth of her wounded body pulsing through her skin.
"She's going out… like this?"
He almost wanted to laugh. "A wounded woman with a baby in her arms… great survival plan."
But something in her eyes silenced him. That woman wasn't running away — she was going after something she needed.
Isabel took the leather pouch that held the blue crystal, checked its contents, and closed it tightly.
Then she drew a deep breath, cast one last look around the cabin — the small shelter that, for a few hours, had been a refuge — and pushed the door open with her shoulder.
The light of dawn flooded the room, revealing specks of dust floating in the air and the faint outline of a distant village, swallowed by smoke.
Isabel stood in the doorway for a brief moment, her eyes fixed on the path leading into the forest.
Then, without hesitation, she took her first step forward.
Tyler felt the sway of her body, the cold wind brushing his face, and the crunch of leaves beneath her feet.
He didn't know what she was searching for — only that it was vital.
And so, with the baby bound to her chest and the past burning behind her, Isabel vanished into the trees.